


The Commander's Song

by BlueEyedArcher



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage and Discipline, Captive Iorveth, Creampie, Doggy Style, Dungeon, Interrogation, Kink request, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, One-Shot, Pairing request, Prisoner of War, Psychological Torture, Punishment, Rough Sex, Sexual Torture, Writing request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 12:59:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12748806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: Veronon Roche has finally captured the little elven bird who's sings such sweet songs. The Scoia'tael rebel has eluded him for so long but now he's at the Blue Stripe's Commander's mercy and he wants to break the elf down piece by piece from the inside out and claim the rebel as his own little caged bird.(This was a writing Request for Vernon x Iorveth; rough sex, doggy style and bondage. This is how it turned out.)





	The Commander's Song

The Blue stripes commander was rather proud of himself as he walked the cold stone halls of the dungeon. His dark brown eyes settling on the door of one particular cell. It took all of his training and years of experience to hold the stern and stoic facade intact without breaking it, his own excitement brimming beneath the surface, bubbling up with absolute delight that he had finally, after so long, captured the song bird in his sights. With a click of the lock, the rusty hinges groaned with the heavy iron door as it swung open, showing the unconscious bare body of the elven rebel leader; Scoia’tael commander Iorveth.

 

He had been stripped of his armor, leaving nothing but the barest necessities to keep his more personal bits hidden. His slender form draped over damp rough stone with heavy iron clasps around each wrist, keeping them bound with a chain leading up to a collar clasped around his throat, limiting his reach. A smirk broke the cold facade, Roche had worked so hard to contain but alas, he was alone now. Ves made sure of that. All the other cells were empty and the guards dispersed to other parts of the compound. It was just him and his prisoner.  

 

With a few swift strides, he was standing over the elf, his vulnerable state making him far less intimidating and almost pet like in a way. Like an old house cat, lounging in patches of sun though he knew very well, even when unarmed this house cat liked to bite. The commander reached out, trailing gloved fingers up along Iorveth’s side, tracing scars that crisscrossed and lined his body from a myriad of weaponry. Each of different age and state of healing. Some were from years ago and some were from their most recent battles. Some Roche himself had left on the elf’s body in their brief moment of greeting out on the battlefield. The slender frame was powerful beneath fair pale flesh. Muscle and sinew lining the canvas of elven beauty, even when marred by war and suffering, there was elegance worth admiring in the elf’s state.

 

His hand trailed up from the dip of his hips to the curve rising along his rib cage and spreading fingers across to his heart. He traced the inky lines of vines tattooed into his flesh, the leaves blooming at the base of his throat and stretched all the way down to the deep groove of his collarbone. For once, the accursed headband was gone, allowing the commander to get a good long look at the scarring over the elf’s right eye. The skin was dark red, a throbbing angry appearance as if badly burned, it even crossed the cheek below, leaching away the fair features like a plague upon pristine flesh. His hand gently cupping that side of the elf’s face, raising it to better see the blemish, finding beauty even in such a horrendous wound. It was a badge of survival and if Roche knew anything at all, it was that Iorveth was _good_ at surviving.

 

His gloved hand cradled the elf’s head as he raised his thumb to stroke the scarring, his dark brown orbs fixed on the spot, overlooking the single green eye that opened to stare up at the blue stripes commander through long eyelashes. Elven lips parted to speak but held quiet, returning the gaze of the temerian commander with equal fascination. But where Roche saw beauty in the elven prisoner, Iorveth saw only a dog of war and though his teeth weren’t bared at the moment, Iorveth knew they were eager to bite at a moment’s notice. And this dog had no leash to hold him back. “Are you going to interrogate me or stare at me all day?” Iorveth quipped with a sharp tone.

 

Roche’s hand fell away as he sat back in a crouch, giving the elf another good long thoughtful glance before a smirk curled the corners of his lips. His other hand rested on Iorveth’s hip before the grip tightened. “Neither.” That deep baritone voice rumbled through Iorveth, sending shivers across his body. He disregarded it as the cold of the cell floor affecting him instead of the dh'oine commander. “I think I’m going to take what’s owed to me. Make us even.”

 

Before Iorveth had the chance to ask what that was, the hand on his hip snaked around to his waist and pulled him over onto his knees. The other hand wove through the long dark brown locks, barely held in place by a tie before it was removed in lieu of snatching a good hold on the elf’s hair. Roche had full control of his little elven songbird with some assistance from Ves’ collection of drugs. Iorveth’s body was weakened by a potent potion the lieutenant forced down his throat upon capture. It left the rebel vulnerable and was the  only reason they were able to take him in without losing any more soldiers. “What do you think you’re doing?” Iorveth blurted, fighting the shackles and pulling against the chain that kept him collared, his head trying to twist to look at the commander over his shoulder.

 

“I think the best way to teach a rabid elf like you a lesson is to put him in his place.” Roche rumbled out, holding Iorveth by a fistful of hair and cemented his grip by pulling his head back. “And your place is on your knees.” It wasn’t that Roche didn’t respect the elven rebel. He had the utmost respect and admiration for the Scoia’tael leader, not because of his cause, god no. But because of his leadership and his loyalty to his people. Because he never gave up and fought to the very end even when that end meant death. He was a survivor and Roche had to respect that and he’d even go so far as to call Iorveth his equal. Both in power and in presence. Despite being on opposing sides. Yet, for those same exact reasons, was why he was doing this.

 

His free hand slid back from Iorveth’s waist down to his hip where he eased down the last bit of clothing keeping the elf covered up. Working it down his slender thighs until it reached his knees before ripping it off of his body, tearing the faded seams the rest of the way and tossing the fabric to the side. Iorveth tensed, twisting in Roche’s grasp once more before the commander was forced to put his weight into his hold and force the elf’s face to the floor. “Hold still or else I’ll just hurt you more. And that wouldn’t be as fun, now would it?” Roche gave a low growl of satisfaction. Inflicting pain was often just as good as sex but pain wasn’t the goal here. He wanted to inflict a whole different kind of damage on his prisoner. The kind that can’t be seen and doesn’t heal as quickly. The kind that is never forgotten and that Iorveth will remember for the rest of his life, reminded by the mere mention of the commander’s name.

 

“Get your hands off of me dh’oine!” Iorveth cursed in old elven, bucking underneath the commander’s hold. There was the sound of buckles as the commander used one hand to expertly unlatch the front of his armor and trousers, freeing himself up a bit more. He put more of his weight into the center of Iorveth’s back to force his body into a deep arch and sent pain shooting up the elf’s spine. Iorveth froze, cursing as his face was ground into the cold hard stonework of the floor, leaving smudges of grime on his skin.

 

Roche scoffed at Iorveth’s attempts and simply continued with his plan. Biting the ends of his gloves, he pulled them off and tossed them aside, out of the way then worked his other glove off, switching hands to curl fingers into the brunette locks. Roche was pleasantly surprised to find them soft instead of greasy or filthy. “For an elf that lives in trees and sleeps in dirt, you’re surprisingly clean.” Roche remarked only to gain another curse from Iorveth.

 

“We’re not heathens like you dh’oine. We don’t live in caves and scrub ourselves with the scum of others.” He spat back at the commander. “My skin is soiled only with the blood of your people.”

 

“Well, then I guess I’ll have to change that.” He rumbled out with a satisfied sound. His free hand shifted to slide down Iorveth’s back, fingers outlining his spine with torturously slow movements that set the elf’s nerves on fire. A shiver rolled through him before he could steel himself. The commander gave a devilish smile at the sight of the elf beneath him looking so vulnerable and raw already. He caught the slight hitch in his breath and the way the elf’s fingers curled into fists. His back curving a little deeper at his touch. His fingers moved to caress his hip and followed the dip to the prize below. Trailing across soft exposed flesh nestled between firm thighs. “What have we here?” The temerian purred into the elf's pointed ear, leaning over Iorveth’s back and pressing the colder metal buckles and straps into his back. Watching him jerk away from the intimate touch and the conflicting chill.

 

“D-don’t touch that! Plough off!” He growled, baring his teeth as his head was jerked back harder, tweaking his neck a bit in the process and wincing. His single good green eye closed as the calloused fingers of the commander trailed up and down his sensitive flesh, coaxing it into a more satisfying hardness.

 

Roche chuckled at the demands. “You’re mistaken here Iorveth, you’re not the one in charge.” Once he was pleased with his little toy, he leaned back, giving the red faced elf a moment to soak in the reality of his situation and what was going to follow. The sound of a cork made him tense as Roche bit the stopper of a small vial and pulled it free, spitting it to the side with everything else, making the once empty cell a witness to their sins. The contents of the vial was simply a clear oil that he dribbled over the part between the elf’s cheeks. Watching the cold oil soak into the crevices and coat everything in it’s path, sliding over the tight ring of muscle. Iorveth stifled a gasp and pulled on the grip in his hair, gaining bursts of pain in his skull as some small strands ripped free. He could have sworn some blood made it’s way to the surface as well but it was to no avail.

 

Roche used the rest of the vial to coat his own hardened member, pulling it out of the confines of his trousers and smoothing over the impressive appendage of throbbing heated flesh. He dropped the vial off to the side, now empty and of no further use, it clinked against the damp stone floor and rolled over to the rest of their pile of discarded items. Moving his hands to either side of Iorveth’s hips and finally giving the elf’s scalp a break, he rubbed his slick member against his part, pressing in between the plump globes of flesh and giving a long teasing slide back and forth. Slow and deliberate. Iorveth bucked, pulling away as he felt the oil dribble down his thighs with the taunting movements. His green eye widened and for once, he felt fear claim him in the face of this dh’oine. A fear he had only felt once before when he first faced off with the White Wolf. It was a primal fear that recognized a stronger predator then himself and it filled his chest with a tight panic.

 

“You whoreson!” Iorveth growled, pulling against the commander’s grip on his hips but Roche looped his arm around his waist and pulled him right back up tight against him.

 

“Hold still now.” The commanding tone used was automatic and made Iorveth pause for but a moment before anger shot through him.

 

“You dare to command me, dh’oine?” He snapped back, baring his teeth at the commander over his shoulder as he twisted in his hold.

 

“Son of a-” Iorveth kicked out at the commander, catching the inside of Roche’s thigh, a little too close for comfort. “I’ll make you regret that.” It wasn’t a threat, it was a promise. One that Roche quickly put into play as he pressed two fingers up against Iorveth’s puckered hole and pushed inside him.

 

Iorveth’s body tensed before a scream broke from his chest and echoed inside the cell. He dug his nails into the cracks between stones in an attempt to get away, this time much more frantic before he was slammed back against Roche’s thighs. He pushed both fingers in deep inside the elf and thrust them in and out rather crudely, not giving him a moment to adjust. It wasn’t long before he started to spread them to widen the hole as much as possible but still wanting it to be tight enough to make the elf regret his earlier actions. After all, he wanted to make this one last. The Scoia’tael commander was special, he was the _one_. The one foe he’s hunted for so long and he was going to savor him and take his time breaking him down from the inside out. Starting with that smug pride he held over humans.

 

He didn’t even bother with a third finger. Pulling his two out, still spread wide in the process and gaining a yelp from the elf before he quickly replaced them with his own hard flesh. Pressing the tip against the hole and holding it there for a second, the only warning to the rebel before he pressed inside his tight entrance. Sinking in deep and forcing the elf to take him right to the hilt. Iorveth’s voice broke, his breath catching as his body tensed, head dipped down to the floor. He was trembling, his shoulders shuddering with every hard breath. Roche paused in his efforts, giving the elf a brief reprieve to adjust before reaching over and snagging another fistful of brown locks in his calloused fingers. He forced the rebel’s head to crane back and spotted blood on his lips and a solitary tear track racing down the grimy cheek. Iorveth's good leafy green orb was damp with tears rather it were from pain or humiliation, Roche didn’t know but it caused a deep clenching sensation inside him filling with satisfaction and pride.

 

He leaned closer holding the elf’s head in place as he pressed his lips into the marked flesh, scraping his teeth over the inky black lines of delicate branches and leaves before sinking them into the elf’s flesh. A broken cry leap from Iorveth’s lips as Roche rutted up against the elf, pressing deeper inside him while holding his mark. Biting harder until he could taste blood and started thrusting inside him in a slow agonizing rhythm. When he drew back, he licked at his lip and watched the crimson slide across pale flesh. “It would seem I’ve soiled your body with your own blood.” Roche purred, nipping at the delicate pointed ear and grazing his teeth over it. His hips bucked hard at the same time and a moan escaped the elf. A sound that was foreign to Roche’s ears but just as satisfying to hear. He pulled away, letting go of Iorveth’s hair and watching the elf dip his head down and press into the floor with a groan. The temerian replaced his hands on the elf’s hips and held them firmly, certain his fingers were going to bruise the pale fair skin before resuming his thrusts, a punishing pace and force that had Iorveth writhing on the stone floor.

 

“I’m-ah! ...going to kill you...you bastard..” Iorveth’s threat lost it’s edge as it was disrupted by every hard pump of Roche’s hips. Ploughing into the tight virgin heat of the elf. It was too good to be true in all honesty. Roche was still having a hard time believing this wasn’t just some dream while on the other end of things, Iorveth was begging that this was some terrible nightmare, pleading to wake up any second now. Roche angled his hips a couple different times until he hit a spot that had the elf screaming in horrified pleasure. His fingers clawed at the stonework and grabbed for anything to ground himself with, the chains clinking and pulling at the collar around his neck.

 

His back arched and Roche found an angle that went deeper, hitting places that made the elf’s body tremble with pleasure. Iorveth’s insides couldn’t help but open up and melt around the heat of the commander, despite his own anger. He pushed himself back up, his arms trembling as that punishing pace slowed but the force increased. He whimpered as one of the hands slid over his hip and snaked down underneath his body to tease at his hardened flesh. The calloused thumb rubbing over the leaking slit and spreading precum over the head. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.” Roche purred, the deep rumble resonating throughout Iorveth in a way that only _Gwynbleidd_ could previously. But now he was stuck beneath this temerian whoreson being taken in the backside no less and his body was betraying him. Devouring every touch and sensation, reacting like a tavern wench. It made him sick.

 

“What’s wrong, cat got your tongue?” Roche mocked, his fingers curling around the rebel’s shaft and stroking him in rough motions that matched his brutal pacing and force. Iorveth couldn’t stop the moan, cursing himself as the sound reverberated off the surrounding walls of the cell. His hips bucked, caught between the two maddening sensations that began to numb his mind with the tendrils of pleasure, lapping at his thoughts and burying them into a cloud of chaotic lust. He  felt Roche’s fingers dig into his hip and claw at the flesh, raking red lines across his skin. Another deep moan rumbled out, falling from Iorveth’s quivering lips.

 

He pumped the elf a few more times, squeezing firmly at the base as he’d thrust hard inside him. Iorveth’s arms gave out, dropping his chest to press against the ground as he resumed clawing and grasping at the stone floor. His back arching deeply as Roche resumed his hold on both of Iorveth’s hips and ploughed into the elf, feeling how the scoia’tael’s insides clutched at his member. The throbbing heat pushing past twitching muscle before a hard thrust hit his sweet spot just right. The elf shuddered beneath the commander, a stifled cry as his body flexed, the heat of his seed spilling down onto the cold floor and dripping from his slit before he went slack against the ground.

 

That did not stop the commander from giving the elf a few more good thrusts. The over sensitive insides twitching and tightening around him with every hit to his sweet spot, milking Iorveth with every thrust until his body stilled. His nails dug deep into the rebel’s hips, leaving bloody crescents behind. Roche bucked a few more times before his own heat spilled into the elf. Coating his insides white with his seed and claiming him in shame. A moan rumbled out of the commander’s chest like the satisfied purr of a large feline. Soft sounds wormed their way through the air, coming from the elf below him as Roche gave another thrust for good measure, watching Iorveth’s body jerk against the floor.

 

He held firm for a few heavy heart beats before pulling out. His hot seed dribbling out of the abused hole and coating the elf’s spent cock. The elf’s body trembling with weakness and all it took was a gentle push on his hips and he toppled over onto his side. A dazed green orb staring off in the distance, fixed on the cell wall as the pretty pale flesh on his chest rose and fell, now stained in a mixture of grime and his own seed. His thighs were soiled in the mix of both their seed and the remnants of the earlier oil. Roche gave a smirk, reaching his hand over to caress the scoia’tael commander’s smudged cheek, rubbing his thumb along his cheekbone beneath his single good eye and admiring his work. Realizing the true beauty of the elf was actually lying broken before him. His pride spent with the rest of his body.

 

He withdrew his hand to gently trace the bite mark from earlier, a hum of satisfaction at the mark, certain it was going to scar and be a gorgeous display of ownership later on. With a pleasant sigh, he grabbed the remnants of cloth nearby from Iorveth’s clothes and wiped himself clean, tucking himself away and resuming his previous proper and respectable appearance. His cold brown eyes leveling their gaze on his new pet, the devil’s smile dancing on his lips as he bid softly. “Welcome to your new home squirrel.”


End file.
